


These Are a Few of My Favorite Things

by Lunafeather



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-23
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-05-16 19:14:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19324381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lunafeather/pseuds/Lunafeather
Summary: Her favorite moments are when the sun peeks in through the curtains, washing their bed with light and making his skin glow. He stirs when she brushes her lips against his bare shoulder, along the tattoo on his arm, across his collar bone to his throat. She smiles as his Adams apple vibrates with his groan, the warm sound making her toes curl.---A collection of loosely connected one shots focused on the things that Beth and Rio love about each other. Set in the nebulous future where 2.13 didn't happen or many years after 2.13, whichever works best for your imagination.





	1. His Voice

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by an anon ask that requested something based around Beth's love of/obsession with Rio's lower lip. They requested kisses but indicated it could be more than just that. I got a little carried away and made a list of all the things these two assholes love about each other, and what was meant to be a two-shot -- one chapter for Beth and one for Rio -- instead became this monster.
> 
> I'm sorry to the anon, because Rio's lower lip isn't going to be until Chapter 5 or so.
> 
> Expect a lot of incredibly self indulgent fluff, smut, and some mild angst.

She meets his voice first, before she even sees him. And yes, she’s distracted by the fact that he shouldn’t be there, she wasn’t expecting him, he’s a gang leader in her kitchen with a golden gun and two tatted, burly men who watch her like a hawk (just like the hawk -- eagle? -- on his throat, the wings touching the points of his jaw) -- but she can’t deny that the low, rasping timbre sets the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck on end, sends a delicious little thrill along her spine, makes her stomach flip flop.

 

It’s not as easy as she pretends it is to shove the effect he has on her down, try as she might. He notices it immediately, unabashed in using it to his advantage -- a defining trait of his that she learns very quickly.

 

It’s easier to forget how his voice touches her like velvet when he’s angry -- he tosses aside honey and sweetness for jagged edges and rough punches, his tone as hard as his eyes. She remembers the coldness in his face when she threw the truck keys at him, the way he turned stiff and distant and dismissive.

 

That didn’t hurt nearly as much as when his voice goes hard during fights _now_ . There’s a cruelness now, a sharpness that knows exactly where to burrow in the cracks and crevices of her heart to inflict the most damage. They know each other too well, have learned each other and studied each other and absorbed each other, and most of the time it makes things easier, makes things sweeter, makes things _better_ \-- but the other times it can be crippling.

 

“How many times I gotta tell you? You need to consult me _first_ , not _last._ You still think this is a fucking game?” He’s a few feet away, his hands clenched into fists at his side.

 

She feels anger boiling in her belly, sending licks of fire down her legs and through her arms to her palms, the sensation so bright that she has to curl her fingers around the edge of the counter to keep from jabbing one into his chest. “Maybe I would consult you first if you weren’t always in a shitty mood! Take a goddamn nap or something!”

 

“I am not a child, Elizabeth.”

 

“Then stop acting like one.” Her voice is icy despite the flames that spark a flush on her cheeks. “I have enough children to look after as it is, I don’t need another.”

 

Black eyes get somehow even darker, his mouth pulling into a hard line. When he comes close and crowds into her space, his nostrils flaring, she isn’t surprised that his voice hits an indifferent tone, devoid of any passion or warmth, like she means nothing to him. “And I don’t need any of this shit. I don’t need _you_. I did just fine before you came along, so maybe we should go back to that, huh?”

 

She isn’t surprised because this is the battle they constantly have when he’s angry -- Rio closing off and distancing himself, bitterly trying to end things between them, trying to walk away like their lives aren’t totally and completely intertwined. Still, tears prick her eyes despite how familiar this is and the fight drains out of her, leaving her exhausted and just so _done_.

 

Rio seems to sense the shift, watches her shoulders slump and then groans under his breath. His hand comes up to thread into her hair and tug her forward until his mouth is pressed to her forehead. Beth tentatively touches his sides, fisting her fingers into his jacket and pulling him right up against her until his other arm comes to wrap around her back and anchor them together.

 

“We can’t keep doing this,” she murmurs, closing her eyes and sighing.

 

“I know.”

 

“You can’t try to break up with me every time this gets hard. You can’t hurt me on purpose when you’re upset. That’s not fair to me. I can’t keep doing this,” she repeats.

 

He buries his face in her neck. When he speaks again, his voice is a gravelly rumble that soothes the little cracks in her heart, presses in to mend all that’s broken.

 

“I know, mamí.”

 

* * *

 

She’d heard Annie throw around the phrase “voice kink” before ( _“It’s like… when someone’s voice just_ does _it for you, ya know? Like… Idris Elba and his accent, getting you all hot and bothered, like oh-no-where-did-my-pants-go.”_ ), but she’d never really considered it a real thing until Rio’s nose is burrowing into her hair, one hand cupping her breast and the other gliding up the inside of her thigh, his chest against her back and their reflections staring back at them. The bass of the music blasting in the bar outside thumps dulling through the walls, making the air dense, making their heavy breathing even heavier.

 

He nips at her jaw, biting up until he can catch her earlobe between his teeth and this -- this would be enough for her, really, but then his voice is snaking right through her, a shockwave that ricochets through her teeth and down into her rib cage, bouncing between her hip bones to settle thick and slick between her thighs.

 

“You been driving me crazy, you know that?”

 

It’s low and fraught and almost desperate. The words seem to vibrate down her neck, her skin tingling in response. He doesn’t say anything else for a while, focusing instead on sucking a bruise behind her ear, then another just below it, painting a line down her neck until his nose is pressed against her shoulder. He helps her take off her panties, ripping them down her legs before dipping his hand back under her dress and into the junction of her thighs where he rakes his fingernails through the curls that await him. His other hand continues to squeeze and pinch at her breast, and even through her lust fueled haze she notices how big his hand is in comparison to her body.

 

It only turns her on even more.

 

They both moan when his fingers find her center and he growls into her ear, “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

 

That’s the start of her _voice kink_.

 

He knows it, too. He clocks it instantly, especially when he jokingly crowds into her space one day and drops his voice until its sultry and beckoning, and goads her with a languid, “What’re you gonna do about it?” and she immediately stiffens and arches her back, her pupils dilating and a flush erupting across her cheeks and spilling down her chest.  She reacts without meaning to show her hand, but it’s too late -- their gazes clash and his smirk is cocky and relentless.

 

Now that they’re sleeping together regularly -- basically in a relationship, without saying as much in so many words, as is their style -- the come-ons come more often. Touch starved and thirsty for attention, she can never resist him when he corners her, pouring filthy strings of words into her mouth and letting his hands roam her body. She isn't complaining -- the sex is amazing and every time they do it, it becomes a little more love making and a little less fucking.

 

The first time he stays the night is coincidentally (though maybe not) their first kind-of date. He asks ahead to make sure she doesn't have her kids, tells her a time he'll pick her up, suggests very pointedly that she wear a dress and heels, then refuses to divulge any other information. When he ends the call, he says, "I'll see you at seven," and he's using that tone, the one that makes her toes curl and her pulse pick up.

 

She chooses a thin strapped turquoise dress that hugs the dip of her waist and flares out at her hips, with a moderately plunging sweetheart neckline that perfectly frames her breasts. A delicate silver drop chain necklace with a yellow diamond pendant that settles daintily at the crest of her cleavage, matching yellow diamond stud earrings, and deep purple heels finish the ensemble -- and if the way he sucks at his lower lip when she opens the door is anything to go by, he approves.

 

He approves so much that he crowds her up against the door frame, his eyes on her mouth -- painted a glittering pink -- and his hands finding her waist, his fingers easily spanning around her body. When he leans in to kiss her (likely to ravage her), she lets him get only so far as breathing the same air as her before she stops him with her palm to his chest. She _could_ give in to the throbbing that started between her thighs when she opened the door and his eyes swept greedily up and down her body, but she's feeling playful and dangerous tonight, and she wants to make him work for it.

 

She tsks softly and says, oh so sweetly, "You'll ruin my lipstick, darling."

 

Beth didn't think his eyes could get any darker, but they somehow do, and she can see he's accepted her challenge by the way his jaw works back and forth. He slides one hand down to cup her ass and bring her body up to align with his as he leans down to growl in her ear, "Let the games begin."

 

He takes her to a new, popular hotel bar where the crush of people has them rubbing against each other the moment they walk in. Ever an opportunist, he uses this to his advantage, pressing up against her back as they move through the crowd, murmuring into her hair and against her shoulder, discreetly biting at the skin of her neck.

 

Filthy whispers of everything he intends to do to her ("I can't wait to bury my face in your thighs, mamí, I'm going to devour you" and "you won't be able to walk tomorrow when I'm done with you") make her keen into his mouth when he kisses her, the sound swallowed by his tongue and the music and the chattering around them. He mentions that there's a bathroom in the back ("could definitely use a bathroom break now, yeah?"), points out a dark corner tucked behind a high backed booth and a room divider ("no one will notice, I promise"), reminds her that there are hundreds of hotel rooms above them ("we could be in a bed in minutes"), but she staves him off, manages to hold on to her faculties, making him more and more desperate to have his way with her.

 

She's practically panting with want when he drags her to his car, and she doesn't really remember the drive back to her house -- can only focus on his fingertips ghosting up her inner thighs, deliberately redirecting course at the last second before doing it all again. They stumble up the steps to the front door and how she manages to get the key in the lock, she has no idea; Rio’s hands are already under her dress and she can feel the hard ridge of his arousal against her ass as he grinds against her. She squeals when he spins her after the front door closes behind them and lifts her up into his arms, her legs automatically wrapping around his waist as he carries her through the living room to the hallway that leads to her bedroom and kisses her senseless.

 

Once he’s got her down to her bra and panties, he lifts off her body to just stare down at her, eyes tracing the peach colored lace and the heavy blush that dapples her cheeks and her heaving chest. He groans, “God, what you do to me…”

 

She loses herself in him, in his generous, reverent touch, his blinding kisses, the languorous roll of his hips -- but especially in his sandpaper rough voice, his lilting encouragements and choked gasps of _You feel amazing_ and _I got you baby_ and _You like that?_

 

They lay together afterwards, panting and staring at the ceiling until Rio says, “Damn, mama,” with so much conviction that Beth erupts into a giggling fit.

 

* * *

 

Her favorite moments are when the sun peeks in through the curtains, washing their bed with light and making his skin glow. He stirs when she brushes her lips against his bare shoulder, along the tattoo on his arm, across his collar bone to his throat. She smiles as his Adams apple vibrates with his groan, the warm sound making her toes curl.

 

“Why you awake so early, ma?”

 

His voice is sleep soft, rough and catching. His hands, big and calloused and hot, slide against her thigh and her hip to her ass, digging in to pull her on top of him. Beth yelps then giggles, grinning when he hums contentedly, eyes still closed and a pleased smile curling the edges of his mouth. Stretching languidly, she settles her curves against his hard edges, wiggling until they are pressed completely together, and tucks her head under his chin.

 

“Mm’love how soft you are.” The words are a purr into her hair, sending molten heat through her chest to her belly. She's almost lightheaded from how _happy_ he sounds.

 

His skin is smooth and silky under her fingertips as she traces the spot above his heart. It beats solidly when she lays her palm against it -- the _thump thump thump_ matching her own. Their kids are with their respective other parents for the weekend, so really, she should go back to sleep and enjoy a late morning -- but her brain is already whirring, awake and ready to go. Still, though… she can lay here and enjoy this rare comfort, this sacred indulgence.

 

“Whatchu thinkin’ about?” he mumbles. One of his hands lifts to the back of her head, his fingers sinking into strawberry waves to clutch her tighter.

 

She knows that he’s struggling not to submerge back into sleep, intent on having this moment with her -- this softness of his is also a rarity.

 

“You,” she answers honestly.

 

He hums again, then falls silent, and she thinks he’s gone back to sleep when he suddenly stretches and tugs her up his body, turning them so that they are on their sides facing each other, nose to nose and still pressed together.

 

“What about me?”

 

It’s too hard to resist -- she rocks forward to kiss him instead of replying right away, letting her lips slide against his before pulling back again.

 

“Thinkin’ you’re getting a little soft,” she teases, pinching his side lightly.

 

He grunts out a half chuckle, grabs her hand with his free one and intertwines their fingers.

 

“Oh yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

He grinds his hips against hers, bringing her attention to a part of him that is very much _not soft_. “You sure about that?”

 

She laughs and squirms against him. “Rio.”

 

His grin is blinding, eyes sparkling. Then he turns a bit serious, a bit intense. Focused. “I was thinking…”

 

He trails off, a little unsure, which catches Beth off guard -- especially when his eyebrows draw together and he drops his gaze to her chin.

 

She rubs her nose against his and asks, “About?”

 

When his eyes meet hers again, he hesitates -- and then seems to make a decision. “I was thinkin’ it was time you came to a family dinner, met my sisters and my mom.”

 

Her eyes go wide, startled -- she must look like a fish the way she gapes at him, and he immediately takes it the wrong way, pulling out of her arms and putting his walls back up. “It’s no big deal if you don’t want to, can’t say I blame you--”

 

Clucking softly, she rolls with him so that she’s straddling him, cupping his face in her hands and forcing him to look at her. “I’d love to.”

 

His smile is _blinding_. “Yeah?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

She could be wrong, but the way he looks at her -- it’s almost as if in awe. It makes her stomach explode with butterflies. She can feel them in her toes.

 

“I was hopin’ you’d say that…” His voice drops down into his lower register, rumbling up and out of him, the edges tinged with affection and _love_ and definite, _definite_ awe, and she thinks her face might get stuck this way if she keeps smiling so hard. “They been askin’ about you…”

 

“Oh? What have you told them?”

 

“That you’ve got the best rack in Michi--”

 

Rolling her eyes, she squeezes his sides _hard_ with her knees, strangling the rest of his sentence and forcing a choked laugh out of him.


	2. Her Boobs

When his guy on the inside at Fine & Frugal calls to tell him they’ve been hit, he can’t say he has the most dignified nor polite of responses. He calls Demon and Cisco and barks orders at them to meet him at the store immediately to investigate. Their guy trembles in his boots, which is to be expected when Rio’s got a scowl as deep as the one he’s currently wearing. The thin, wiry blonde leads them to the back office so that they can watch the surveillance tapes, and when the three women pop up on screen clad in all black and ski masks, Rio actually _laughs_ \-- how fucking absurd, yeah? His amusement trickles down into a wry smirk as he tells the manager to replay the video two or three times, intently studying the women and their movements.

 

His eyes catch on the tallest of the three, on her curves and her stance and her presence. He wants to know who these bitches are, what the hell they’re thinking, what kind of women they are that they would hold up and rob a grocery store.

 

Another barked order and Cisco is exiting quietly to track them down.

 

If he wanted to make himself sound like a better man, a more honorable and respectable man, he would say that the first thing he notices about her when she comes home to him and his boys in her kitchen is her deep blue eyes or the way the teal colored shirt she wears complements her strawberry blonde curls and her pale complexion, or even her heart shaped face.

 

He’d be lying out of his ass.

 

The first thing he notices is her tits.

 

Now, he may have been looking for them when she comes into view because he had studied the women quite intensely in the surveillance videos, but he has a feeling that even if he didn’t have any idea what to expect, his eyes still would have been immediately drawn there. Her outfit hugs every curve in all the right ways, but it’s the sliver of freckled creamy skin framed by a rack he would gladly pay worship to that really stands out.

 

Then again, he’s a boob guy, so maybe he’s biased.

 

He’s a little mesmerized by her once he takes in the whole package -- long legs, thick thighs, rounded hips, tiny waist, slim shoulders, chin dimple (and _boy_  is he drawn to that), deep flush, sharp blue eyes, sweet mouth -- but he hopes it’s just the surprise of stumbling on a gorgeous suburban housewife as his thief and nothing more, would bet money on this heavy draw to her being the thrill of how different she is from his normal type. Besides, he can’t get too attached; the likeliness of these ladies getting all of his money back is slim to none, so he’s gonna have to take care of them.

 

Sure would be a shame to lose a creature like her, though…

 

The next time he sees her, he and his boys are lounging in a corner booth sipping on cheap bitter coffee and perusing a sad, predictable menu. It tickles him that it takes so long for one of them to notice him, but he honestly doesn’t mind -- it gives him the opportunity to soak in Elizabeth (and no, it’s not weird that he made sure to find out her name when his boys were digging up intel on the trio, it’s not weird that he only asked for _her_ name, it’s not weird at all and the look on his face when Demon is caught off guard warns off any possible questions). She’s wearing a royal blue sweater with a deep V neck, and he has to stifle a growl when she bends to drop her purse on the ground by her feet. The color is absolutely _breathtaking_ on her, and combined with that neckline? He’s pretty sure he’s died and gone to heaven.

 

It’s the rack sent from God.

 

From then on, he soaks in her curves -- her breasts in particular -- whenever the opportunity presents itself, which, fortunately for him, is relatively often. Sometimes he hears his guys wondering why the boss doesn’t just send one of them to pass on messages to the girls, but he figures they could probably guess that he just wants to let his eyes wander over her, tracing every inch while he tries to puzzle her out, crack her open and see what’s inside.

 

He knows she notices, can see that blush spill from her cheeks down to her chest, catches the disbelief on her face. She must not think she’s his type (not that she’s _wrong_ ), comes off as a prude scandalized by the barest mention of carnal activities -- which he finds endlessly amusing to rile her up with. He likes watching her turn red, likes watching her breath hitch, likes watching her draw her lip between her teeth. He wonders if her husband doesn’t spend enough time appreciating her body, her breasts, her thighs, learns pretty soon that the idiot does in fact _not_.

 

That’s okay. One man’s trash…

 

Rio doesn’t honestly think he’ll ever be blessed enough to get his hands on her in the way he very much wants to, thinks they’ll play this game of push and pull and push and pull until one of them gets themselves killed. He knows he should let it go, should walk away; no pussy -- no rack -- is worth this much trouble. But he stays, too twisted up in her, too attracted to her body and her _mind_ to let her get away.

 

To say it’s a surprise when her gaze lingers on him in that crowded, noisy bar, twisting a curl around her finger before standing and excusing herself… well. He tells himself that she isn’t inviting him to follow, that he could never be that lucky, tries to convince himself to sit back down while he’s stalking down the hallway after her, insists he’ll leave if the door is locked -- but it’s not, and when she catches his eye in the mirror, he knows she made the deliberate choice to lure him.

 

He wants to kiss her, he wants to devour her mouth and her moans and her sighs, but he lets her lead, lets her make every move. When she locks the door, turns her back to him and tugs the hem of her dress up, leaning against the counter and watching him in the mirror through her lashes, he thinks he’s dreaming, sees her offer herself up on a silver platter and waits for the moment when he wakes up. He doesn’t, though, so he moves closer, not willing to waste this chance. His fingers on her thigh sets his pulse hammering, and she doesn’t stop him so he lifts his other hand to cup her breast, stutters out a breath at finally, _finally_ getting to touch her the way he’s wanted to for so long.

 

It’s a one time thing; it _has_ to be. They scratched their itch, they lived to tell the tale, they had been there, done that. He’ll get his money, and he’ll move on, and he’ll consider it his longest, most well earned conquest.

 

But she haunts him. The taste of her skin, the sound of her whimpers, the way she clenched around him, the weight of her breasts in his hands -- he does end up dreaming about her, finds himself drifting off into fantasies while talking to his guys.

 

He is addicted to her.

 

Maybe she’s woven herself into his DNA.

 

He goes back for more. He’s never been good at resisting temptation.

 

* * *

 

Elizabeth surprises him (she always has, hasn’t she?).

 

He remembers their conversation in her car when the FBI had started to come around asking questions, when he had suggested she tell Turner they were fucking and she had sputtered and scoffed and that delicious flush had ignited on her cheeks. He had corrected himself, offered instead the idea that she say they _made love_ , and that flush had spread hastily down her neck to her chest, dappling her cleavage.

 

She had seemed so innocent back then, so… _vanilla._ He figured she’d be a missionary only kind of woman.

 

He has never been so happy to be wrong.

 

When they start having sex regularly, she’s shy and hesitant, unsure of herself, of her body, of her sensuality. She lets him lead, but _always_ eagerly participates, and it’s not long before she’s confident enough to shove him on his back and climb into his lap to ravish him.

 

They’ve been teasing each other all day -- he’s convinced she just woke up horny and has been taking it out on him with one of her most form fitting, plunging dresses. He hadn’t been able to keep his eyes on her face, and every time he managed to meet her gaze, her mouth had been quirked in a knowing, gloating smile. There were texts and whispers and “innocent” brushes against each other -- then she had suddenly declared the work day over and insisted she had _pressing matters to attend to_ at home, looking pointedly at him.

 

He didn’t need to be told twice.

 

She pins his wrists above his head on her bed and leans down to kiss him deeply, sliding her tongue against his, languorous and slow, nibbling at his lower lip when he groans. Her breasts dangle just out of reach, tempting him, taunting him. He turns in her grip until he can grab _her_ wrists, yanking at them so that she loses her balance and rocks forward, pressing her cleavage against his face. He hums with pleasure, mouthing at the edges of her dress, trying to tug the material out of the way with his teeth while she giggles breathlessly above him -- the effect is mesmerizing, her breasts quivering and bouncing and _jesus_ he could quite possibly pass out. She wriggles out of his grasp and leans her weight on her palms, offering herself to him. His fingers go immediately to the neck of her dress, curling under the material of it and her bra, tugging both down until her breasts spill out. She moans as he cups them and kisses along each mound, nipping and biting and sucking bruises into smooth skin until he’s latching onto a nipple and making her keen.

 

Elizabeth lets him go wild for a long moment and then unceremoniously shoves him away. He’s a little dazed and a lot turned on, and his eyebrows draw together as he watches her slide off the bed and remove all of her clothing. It takes a second for his brain to catch up -- when it does, he grins. Then she’s naked in his lap, urging him to sit up and tugging his t shirt off, dragging her nails over his nipples -- making him hiss with pleasure -- and down his belly. A palm to his chest and he’s on his back again. He’d complain, but her mouth finds the tip of one of the wings on his throat and the words die before they can even form as she marks him, _claims_ him. It sends all his blood rushing south.

 

She moves slowly down his body, sucking on each nipple until he's groaning her name, dragging her teeth along the sparse trail of hair snaking down his navel. A quick flick of her fingers and his jeans are open, and he's lifting his hips to allow her to tug them and his underwear down, his already hard cock bouncing up against his belly. Elizabeth discards his socks before climbing back up his body, slow, deliberate, eyes locked on his, her lower lip caught between her teeth. Rio expects her to come all the way up to kiss him, but she doesn't; instead she picks up where she left off, tongue dipping into his belly button -- just above where his cock rests. She wraps a hand around it and moves it out of the way so that she can nip down to his hip bone, lazily stroking him like it's an afterthought as she bites a line of hickeys along his thigh crease.

 

After a few minutes, she turns to his length in her palm almost as if she just remembered it's there, then leans oh so slowly down to press a kiss to his tip. Rio groans, pained, sliding his fingers into her hair. She _knows_ this is torture, he can see that tiny curl at the edge of her lips. She's fighting a smirk, one full of power and promise.

 

Finally, _finally,_ she drags her tongue along the underside of him from root to tip, swirls it around the head and repeats the motion a few times, then wraps her mouth around him.

 

" _God,_ Elizabeth."

 

Her head bobs in response.

 

She lets him go with a _pop_ , strokes him with her hand as she props her chin in the other and says, "I've been thinking."

 

Rio sucks in a breath and his hips jerk up when she squeezes. "Yeah?" he pants, justifiably distracted.

 

Elizabeth pauses, pouting up at him. "Are you listening?" There's a wicked twinkle in her eye, though her face is all innocence.

 

He grunts, then whines just a tiny bit when she doesn't continue her ministrations. "Yeah, mama, I'm listening. Can you just…?"

 

Glancing down at his cock, she jumps as if startled. "Oh! Yes, of course. How rude of me." Her stroking continues, and the hand propping her chin drops to cup and squeeze his balls. He groans, long and loud. She nibbles up the underside of him as she murmurs, "Anyway, I was thinking of some things I've always wanted to try but never had someone who deserved the effort…" A drag of the flat of her tongue, all the way up until she says seriously, her lips brushing his tip, "but now I have you."

 

Then she takes him into her mouth again, head bobbing in earnest, sucking him off like she's dying of thirst and he is her only source of water. His hips lurch up with every downward motion, but he puts as much effort as he can into not thrusting up into her mouth despite his body desperately wanting to chase the sensation of the wet heat of her mouth.

 

Once she's got him well and truly slick with her spit, she lifts her face away and wiggles up his body until she can nestle his dick between her breasts.

 

"Oh, god, fuck," is all he can articulate.

 

Using her hands to cup her cleavage around him, she slowly rocks back and forth, trying to keep her balance and failing. She huffs, frustrated. Rio watches her through hooded eyes, brushing his fingers through her hair while her eyes move around the room, mind whirring. She seems to make a decision and climbs off him, holding a hand out to pull him into a sitting position then tugging him until he scoots to sit at the edge of the bed. His breath stutters when she lowers herself between his knees, his cock twitching with interest.

 

When she glances up at him through her lashes, blue eyes bright, her fingertips dragging slowly up his inner thighs, her lips parted _just so_ \-- he thinks he might be the luckiest god damn man alive. That feeling only expands when she leans forward and takes his cock in one hand and positions it between her breasts again, enfolding them around him and propping her elbows on his legs. This position gives her more control, more leverage in lifting and dropping and rubbing, and gives him the freedom to roll his hips up into the sensation, his legs flexing. She alternates this and taking him deeply into her mouth in the traditional way. His hand goes to her hair again, tugging _gently_ , encouraging her but not directing her, keeping her hair out of the way so that he can see _everything_.

 

He’s panting and his eyes want to close but he forces them open, intent on watching her, on memorizing every agonizingly glorious second of this. Her mouth is on him when he starts getting close to coming, and somehow she knows, somehow she senses it and hums around him -- he groans, long and loud, the vibration sizzling through his cock and his belly and his thighs, his muscles tensing. She switches again to cradling him between her breasts and he takes the opportunity to tug her head back so that he can bend down and kiss her deeply, his free hand going to her waist to support her as she arches into it.

 

He comes in fits and spurts across her chest and shoulders, rumbling thickly into her mouth.

 

Elizabeth breaks the kiss with a giggle and then a sigh, and it warms him from the inside out, making his lethargic limbs somehow feel both heavier and light, like he could float off into the sky if her fingers weren’t scraping across his scalp and along his spine. His forehead finds hers while he catches his breath, and then he’s gripping her waist and hauling her up the bed, grinning into her mouth as she shrieks out a startled laugh before unceremoniously dumping her onto her back, head on the pillows.

 

A short trip to the bathroom to wet a washcloth with warm water later and he’s sitting next to her, carefully cleaning her up, worshiping her body with a reverence he’s not sure he’s _ever_ felt. She just watches him quietly, biting her lip.

 

He loves her. He knows it so strongly in that moment that he’s afraid to look into her eyes, to let her see the strength of his feelings. Gentle fingers at his chin mean he can’t escape, and _a_ _h, well_ … she’d have found out eventually; his Elizabeth is like a dog with a bone at times. She doesn’t say anything -- she doesn’t have to. She’s looking at him like her heart might burst at any moment.

 

It’s too much. He feels vulnerable, like an open wound -- oozing and wet and sensitive, like she could destroy him with a flick of her wrist. He trusts her, now more than ever, but this whole thing is new to him -- he’s never let anyone this close before. There’s a recklessness to it, an uninhibitedness that settles in the cracks of his soul and makes him feel out of control, and that just will not do.

 

So he deflects, grasps desperately for some semblance of control until he can dissect and organize the epiphany he’s had. He’s not sure if he should be hurt or surprised by her tiny, almost imperceptible frown, like she expected it.

 

“If you were tryin’ to kill me, ma, there’re a lot crueler ways to do it. Not that I’m complainin’.”

 

She shakes her head, lifting her hands to cradle his face and rub her thumbs along his lower lip. “It did seem like you were having an out of body experience,” she teases gently.

 

Rio growls and buries his face in her cleavage, and his, “that’s cause your tits are out of this world, mamí,” is muffled by her skin.

 

Elizabeth laughs, shoving him away. “Haven’t you had enough?”

 

He lifts away from her only to cup them in his hands and squeeze them together, molding the soft, pliable flesh between long fingers. “Never.”

 

Her eyes narrow at his manhandling of her body as she grouses, “You act like you don’t paw at them whenever you get the chance.” She smacks his hands away, but he persists. 

 

“I can’t help it, they’re like--” He chokes on a huff of laughter before saying, “They’re like homing beacons, ma,” and quickly tweaking each of her nipples, then collapsing into a heap of loud, crowing guffaws at his own joke, his shoulders shaking violently with the effort.

 

Beth just sighs and looks up at the ceiling, as if seeking some kind of heavenly assistance that never comes.

 

Some time later, they fall asleep tangled together after an unhurried, intense bout of lovemaking -- Rio curls up with his head pillowed on her breasts, his hand resting over her heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone for the absolutely wonderful comments on the first chapter! I was not expecting this kind of reception! I hope you enjoyed the first in Rio's list of favorite things...


	3. His Eyes

They draw her in and hold her there, hostage to black depths framed by gorgeous, long lashes and thick, dramatic brows. His eyes always seem to be half-lidded, lazy and calculating yet sharp, almost like a big cat lying in wait. When she rounds the corner into her kitchen to find him and his boys waiting for her, his gaze pins her in place, frozen as he leaps down and prowls closer, and she thinks she might drown in those eyes, feels like prey.

 

She kind of likes it.

 

She kind of likes it a lot.

 

He makes her feel _seen_.

 

Valued.

 

Worth while.

 

She likes it best when his eyes dance with mirth, when warmth spreads through them and bathes her with affection and approval. She lives for the moments when she surprises him, when she startles him, when she catches him off guard.

 

Forcing him to say they’re good, calling him a bitch, impressing him by washing his cash quickly and easily.

 

She likes it when he’s intrigued and a little turned on, the way that lazy appraisal turns into pointed interest.

 

“You know the tradition is Jordans over a phone line, right?”

 

That rasp, and that look, his gaze so heavy on her that she can feel it setting her nerve endings alight, laser focused and magnetic. She asks him much later if he thought it was a booty call, the memory surfacing as they lie in her bed reminiscing about some of their first encounters. He rolls his eyes as he flops onto his back to stare up at the ceiling and escape her already bright smile.

 

“C’mon, ma,” he scoffs, and Beth knows instantly that he’s deflecting.

 

She presses her body all along his, slotting her curves against him in the way she’s learned he likes, but he doesn’t acknowledge the movement, instead lifting his arm to tuck it under his head.

 

Her hand finds his ribs and pinches him hard enough that he grunts.

 

“No, I wanna know. Did you think I called you over to have sex with you?”

 

Rio closes his eyes like she hasn’t spoken.

 

Her fingers wiggle against his side until he huffs out a breath, choking on his involuntary laughter.

 

“What’s it matter?”

 

Her eyebrows shoot up. “What’s it matter?” she repeats.

 

One of his eyes opens to stare down at her. “Yeah, what’s it matter? I’m fuckin’ you now.” He smirks when she makes an indignant little noise and closes his eye again.

 

“You know,” she says thoughtfully, “before I was just a little curious, but now I _really_ want to know.”

 

He groans. He groans because he knows she’s not gonna give up on the subject, but _she_ knows he’s gonna fight admitting it until the absolute last second.

 

She goes to tickle him again, but he’s too quick -- the hand under his head swings down to catch her fingers. He intertwines them with his own and rests them on his chest.

 

“Rio,” she whines, her voice dropping into her lower register. His jaw rocks back and forth in response, but he otherwise doesn’t move. She inches closer, wiggling up until she can press her lips against his jaw, sighing when his beard tickles her lips. He’s taken to growing it out and it’s been driving her wild -- she suspects that’s the main reason he’s doing it. She nips down his throat, stopping at the tip of the wing of his tattoo and sucking there, slow and methodical, taking extra care to ensure that she leaves a hickey. He growls when he realizes what she’s doing. “Tell me,” she demands, mouth against his ear before biting his earlobe and tugging. His hand on her back twists into the fabric of her shirt, trying to bring her closer.

 

“Dunno what you’re talking about,” he grumbles, but it lacks strength. He swallows _hard_ when she goes back to sucking another mark on his neck, just below the first.

 

“Oh?” She bites down and grins when he jerks up into her mouth.

 

“ _Elizabeth._ ”

 

“ _R_ _io,_ ” she mocks. She tugs the hand clasped with his free and teases her fingers up under his t-shirt to brush against his belly, suppressing her own noise of pleasure as she traces the smooth dips and ridges of his abs, and the delicate trail of hair above his sweatpants. “Tell me.”

 

He grunts.

 

She traces her tongue over each of the hickeys she’s left and swipes her fingertips _just_ under the waistband of his pants, gliding them back out when his hips subconsciously jerk up in anticipation. She repeats the action a couple times until the hand on her back slides into her hair to hold her still against neck, and the hand on his belly snatches her questing fingers.

 

Beth looks up at him expectantly, her pulse leaping when he opens his eyes and they are so dark she can’t see his pupils, even this close. Her mouth parts on a tiny hiccuping gasp.

 

“Yeah, maybe I did,” he says, and his voice is a rumble that cascades down her spine and curls her toes. In a flash he rolls them, pinning her body with his own and pressing their hands into the mattress above her head -- she moans when he grinds his hips against hers. “What you gonna do about it?”

 

She’s breathless when she sighs his name. The look on his face is hungry, _starving_ \-- he kisses her roughly, relentless in his retaliation, swallowing her cries of pleasure.

 

He makes quick work of removing their clothing and settling into the cradle of her thighs, driving into her with a sharp thrust that makes her keen. It’s all she can do to hold on as he fucks her senseless, her nails at the back of his neck and digging into his ass -- he cradles her skull with one large warm palm and hikes her thigh higher with the other. Even though he’s rough, he keeps his forehead against hers, doesn’t let her look anywhere but deep into his eyes, even when her orgasm crashes into her unexpectedly and she cries out. She forces her eyes to stay open, doesn’t want to miss his when he comes, and yes -- it’s all worth it when he does, his brows drawing together and his mouth opening on a gasp, he lashes fluttering.

 

It’s the color of them, though, that always keeps her enchanted, the dark, rich blackness sucking her in and sending warmth tingling through her body.

 

She doesn’t let him roll off her for a long while, too content and too languid. He doesn’t complain. 

 

* * *

 

She thinks the first time she really, truly fell in love with his eyes was in her car, harassing him about the FBI, Rio offering her the suggestion of telling Turner that they were fucking and that’s how they knew each other.

 

“Oh, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Tell him we’re _making love_.”

 

She’d scoffed and gaped at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish, a blush exploding across her cheeks at the suggestion. She’d thought of him that way by then, of course she had, but she’d shoved those thoughts, those fantasies, those _dreams_ way, way down, pretended she hadn’t noticed how he lit her up. “I-- Wha-- How do I even say that?”

 

He’d chuckled, bright with amusement, and a grin had spread across his face like the crest of a sunrise on the horizon. The corners of his eyes crinkled with mirth, and she’d been mesmerized, was suddenly struck by how god damn beautiful he was.

 

“You’ll think of something. Make me sound good, yeah?”

 

And then he’d climbed from her car, leaving her breathless and pleased and embarrassed, her mind racing with the thousands of banished thoughts of their bodies intertwined and writhing. She’d gone home and locked her bedroom door and gotten herself off to images of that gorgeous smile and the brightness of his eyes.

 

Even now she finds herself caught up in his gaze when he’s blissfully, uninhibitedly happy. He’s just sealed a new deal with a distributor after flipping his game, has Marcus over at her house with her kids, has just gorged himself on her homemade ravioli and sun roasted tomato cream sauce. He flops onto the couch after shooing their gaggle of children outside to run off their dinner and holds out his hand to her, tugging her down until she’s lying mostly on top of him with her head tucked under his chin. He hums, content.

 

Beth mouths tiny kisses against his t-shirt, her hand stroking lazily along the black bar tattoos on his tricep until his hand comes up to tangle in her hair, dragging her head up so he can kiss her properly. It’s slow, shallow, both of them too keenly aware that a child could come streaking into the room at any moment. She nips at his lower lip and pulls back to smile mischievously up at him.

 

The intensity of the warmth in his eyes takes her breath away.

 

The skin at the corners crinkles and his lashes are long and sweeping, and she gets that sensation again, like she’s being swallowed up, only this time it sends a tingle all the way down to her toes, and it feels like her body is slowly filling up with lava, hot and thick and crawling. She knows there’s a blush on her cheeks from the way her face burns, but that only seems to make him all the more joyous.

 

He loves having this effect on her.

 

He loves  _her_.

 

They haven’t said the words, but she’s caught it on his face a few times now, has noticed the way he tucks it away like he’s not ready to admit to it.

 

He doesn’t hide it now, just lets it pour out from black eyes like burning coals.

 

She doesn’t even realize she’s whispered his name until he catches his lower lip between his teeth, but she doesn’t miss that the action is the start of him shuttering his emotions. Beth shakes her head, silently asking him not to withdraw, and to her surprise he stops, letting himself be vulnerable, letting her _see_ him.

 

She wants to get lost in his eyes.

 

A hand on his shoulder helps her prop herself up to rub her nose against his, and her palm finds his neck and cups it so that her thumb can brush tenderly along his jaw. She answers his vulnerability, his trust, with her own, trying to funnel all of the different ways she feels about him into her own gaze.

 

She thinks he gets it.

 

He kisses her again, and it’s full of promise, promise so sharp and blooming that she’s a little startled by a prickling of tears.

 

“Mommy! Danny _hit_ me!”

 

And the moment’s broken by Emma’s shriek, her little stomping feet announcing her arrival in the kitchen.

 

Rio chuckles as Beth rolls her eyes.

 

* * *

 

Sleep tousled and clinging to unconsciousness, Rio looks like a stubborn little boy curled up on her chest. He’s not a morning person, she’s learned -- a challenging lesson, because when he isn’t defiantly refusing to get out of bed so that he can catch a few more Z’s, he’s tugging her back under the covers and sliding his fingers between her thighs. She’s not very good at denying him, despite raising four actual children basically on her own.

 

It’s too endearing, the way he blinks up at her when she pries herself out of his grasp, his long lashes fluttering and his heavy eyelids more pronounced. It’s too hard to resist the way he pouts, eyes sparkling, his look often turning lecherous -- he _knows_ what he does to her, he knows just how attracted to him she is because it’s the same way for him. It took her a long time to come to terms with that, to welcome that power, to wield it for her own personal gain the way he does with ease. She knows he often regrets teaching her that.

 

Oh well. How often does it result in something wonderful on both sides?

 

These days there’s often a thick layer of affection in his gaze when he wakes up next to her, and it makes her skin buzz. Sometimes it’s too much, making her itch, making her antsy. Mostly it leaves a swirl of butterflies in her belly. He’s never been shy about the way he sweeps his eyes over her body, and even now… even now, it sends a thrill racing down her spine.

 

To watch sleepy affection melt into loving desire -- she didn’t know anything like this existed. She’d listened to Ruby describe it, but had scoffed; Dean had _never_ ignited anything even remotely close to it in her.

 

Oh, how naive she had been.

 

He rolls off her onto his side, pulling her with him so that they’re nose to nose. She hums when his eyes flutter closed again, too content to fight him about getting up. Their kids are with their respective other parents, so there really isn’t that much of a hurry...  Rio seizes on that weakness whenever he can, and this morning is no exception. He slides his thigh between hers.

 

“What you wanna do today, Mama?”

 

Beth’s eyes open and her brow furrows, but his are still closed. “Well… I need to tend to some of the flower out back, they’re looking a bit worse for wear… And the kids’ sheets need to be washed.”

 

Rio chuckles, his raspy voice tumbling over her skin like bourbon over ice. She arches against him without realizing it. “See, I was thinkin’ we should go for a drive, maybe get lunch somewhere by the water. Explore the city a bit.” Now he watches her, studying her reaction to this suggestion. “Then maybe dancing tonight…”

 

“You… want to spend the entire day together? You don’t have to work?”

 

“Mmm, nah.” His hand sneaks up under her sleep shirt.

 

Beth stares at his mouth, the way the corners are turned up in amusement. “I don’t know if I have anything to wear to go dancing…”

 

His hand cups her breast while his eyes twinkle. “Guess we’ll have to go shopping, yeah?”

 

* * *

 

His eyes go cold and sharp as flint when a drop goes badly -- very badly. It's a mess on every count, from every side. She can't find the place, gets word from the client that whoops, he gave her the wrong address, so she gives him attitude once she finally rolls up. They had done things a little differently, with payment happening at the time of the drop -- a favor owed by Rio finally paid -- but the guy is short and cagey about it. He gets violent with the foliage in the area and she almost draws her gun in self defense, which only pisses him off even more. He calls Rio right then and there, using choice words such as "your bitch" and "this ho" and "your piece of ass", and Beth is so done with everything that she just leaves.

 

Rio is waiting for her in her bedroom, sat at the end of her bed, his face stormy and shoulders stiff and his mouth pulled down into a furious frown that years ago would have set her teeth on edge and her body hair on end. Now it only sparks her anger back to life.

 

"Do _not_ give me that look, I swear to God." She flings her shoes off, not giving a shit where they fly, turning her back to him and yanking her jacket off as she stomps into her closet. He doesn't say anything, just follows her with his eyes, and she knows, she just _knows_ that his jaw is working back and forth, that he's clenching his teeth in an attempt to strangle his anger.

 

"You gonna tell me what the fuck that was?"

 

His voice floats into the closet, but she ignores him, instead forcing herself to breathe deeply and carefully remove her clothes so as not to damage anything. Her nerves are still frayed from the disaster of a drop, and she does _not_ want to deal with him right now. She wants to change into her jammies and flop into bed and sleep for twelve hours, she doesn't even want to make the effort to take off her make up or brush her teeth.

 

But none of that is going to happen, because Rio wants to have this out.

 

"You suddenly deaf or somethin'?"

 

And that snaps her patience in half.

 

"Do _you_ want to tell me what the fuck that was? Cause I sure as hell don't know. Usually you have a better leash on your boys, but maybe you're going soft." She hurls the words at him, full of poison. When his eyes drop down her body, soaking in the fact that she's in her panties and bra and her pajama top hanging open, she levels him with a dark scowl. He used to be able to throw her off kilter with looks like that, used to be able sap her power, her fury, get himself the upper hand in her embarrassment -- but not today. Not for a while, actually.

 

She doesn't give him the satisfaction of haughtily yanking her shirt closed; instead she takes her time like he isn't there, like he isn't watching her for a reaction. It makes his eyes even harder.

 

"That how you wanna play it, huh?"

 

Beth goes into her bathroom, brushing her teeth and wiping her make up off with slow precision, making him wait. If he wants to do this, he'll do it on her terms.

 

Somehow his eyes have turned even more black when she comes back out, inky and intense, and she has the strangest thought that they could swallow her whole, suffocating her. She shakes her head to clear it. He mistakes the motion for a dismissal.

 

"That all you wanna be to me? My side piece? Cause that's what you'll be if you don't get your ass back in line."

 

She's just walked past him to her side table when he growls this, and she basically skids to a halt and spins back to him, eyes narrowed and hackles raised.

 

"Excuse me?" She stalks up to him, crowding into his space, stood between his knees and leaning down until they're nose to nose. "I will _never_ be just your 'side piece'. We are _partners_ , in every sense of the word, and I would really appreciate it if you would start acting like it."

 

"That right? We partners? Cause a lot of the time you act first and think later, usually when it's _my_ reputation on the line."

 

"He was behaving erratically and was talking to me like I was an object! I felt threatened! But you don't give a shit about that, do you? All you care about is your business." She leans back, surprised and a little humiliated when her eyes start burning. She didn't realize how hurt she was by his lack of protectiveness.

 

Before she can flee, his hands come up to grip her hips, holding her in place.

 

"Elizabeth."

 

She crosses her arms and stares up at the ceiling, trying -- and failing -- to blink back her tears. She will _not_ show him weakness. She will _not_.

 

When she doesn't reply, doesn't look at him, he nudges her back and stands to loom over her, forcing her to meet his eye. The coldness has faded and melded into something much hotter, the sharpness spreading like spider webs across her skin.

 

"Tell me what happened."

 

Beth scoffs. "Oh, so now you want to hear my side? Now you want to give me the benefit of the doubt? What about when Nico was talking about me like I was a piece of meat -- like I was _your_ piece of meat? Like you _own_ me?"

 

Rio tips his head back to look down his nose at her. "I already got on him for the way he was talkin' about you. But now I'm thinkin' he didn't give me all the details."

 

"Always going to listen to everyone else before me, huh?" The bitterness that burns at the back of her throat is nothing new -- and that makes it sting even more.

 

"Elizabeth."

 

"No." Her voice is tremulous, dangerously so. She steps away from him to pace the room, and he lets her go. She almost wishes he wouldn't, that he would fight harder to make her talk, that he would just fight for her, period.

 

She knows that's not who he is.

 

But still.

 

He shoves his hands in his pockets, watching her, waiting. Eventually the weight of his gaze gets her talking, and she tells him everything that occurred. The flippant way Nico had informed her he'd given her the wrong address before hanging up on her mid sentence. How she'd had to wait for him to basically throw the money at her feet, sneering as she bent down to get it. How he'd looked at her like dog shit on the bottom of his shoe while simultaneously somehow ogling her chest. And yeah, she'd given him attitude, but she was _done_ with men talking to her this way, treating her this way, and she was exhausted from shuttling her kids around after school, and she unleashed it on him -- but he definitely deserved it. She tells Rio about the way Nico became terrifyingly unpredictable when she counted and declared him short on his payment -- he insisted she recount it at least three times before she put her foot down, and he'd started kicking trash cans and garbage and rocks and anything else within reach. He'd wheeled towards her, flailing, screaming obscenities, his face pink and glistening with sweat and spit and for maybe the first time in her life, she'd reached for the gun Rio had given her, wanting it close just in case -- and of course Nico clocked that, and it had sent him digging for his phone to call Rio and lambaste him with her hubris, her shortcomings, her fuck ups.  She listened for a while, trying self righteously to interject, but when it got her nowhere... She'd been furious and at her wits end and so she'd grabbed the money and left.

 

Turning back to him when she’s finished, her breath catches at how his eyes have changed again -- and this time the deathly serious glint scares her a little. She knows it’s not aimed at her, as his attention is focused inwards while his jaw rocks forward and back, but still -- the hairs on her arms and the back of her neck are definitely standing on end now. Rio stalks closer and lifts his hand to her face to drag his pinky along her cheek, and it’s his own way of apologizing, his own olive branch, and she takes it, for now.

 

This fight will have to be a discussion, someday soon, even if they both fight against showing their cards to one another unless absolutely necessary.

 

She just can’t do it anymore.

 

He nods, seeing it in her eyes.

 

And then he’s gone, leaving out the french doors, anger making his back rigid. Beth climbs into bed and tosses and turns, latent adrenaline keeping her awake. She finally tumbles into slumber after a few hours only to be awoken by Rio sliding into her bed behind her, naked except for his boxer briefs. He curls around her, his body knowing exactly where every one of his edges slots perfectly against her curves -- he could press them snugly together in his sleep, has indeed done so many times. She rolls over, though, wanting to fall asleep to his scent in her nose, soothing her, comforting her. He doesn’t let her burrow against him just yet. His hands come up to frame her face, holding her there, staring at her in the dark, and she comes suddenly awake at the intensity there.

 

They don’t say anything, just watch each other, and Beth is mesmerized by his lashes and his softness. The next morning, she barely remembers it, like she’d dreamt it -- but she awakens with her lips tingling as if they’ve been kissed and her nose nestled against the eagle on his throat. She pulls back, barely, just barely, slowly and incrementally so as not to stir him, and brushes her fingers over those lashes, fanned out against barely freckled cheeks and stark cheekbones. They tickle her skin.

 

When his eyes open, bleary and heavy, her breath catches.

 

She _sees_ him, and her heart clenches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long delay between chapters! I was on vacation in the mountains :) This isn't my favorite chapter, it's kind of all over the place, but whatever. I love Rio's/Manny's eyes so I just like... couldn't help myself, haha. More to come soon!

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you as always for reading, and thank you to my friends Lee and Sophie for being the best sounding boards. Couldn't do this without you!


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